Safety Net
by PissedOffEskimo
Summary: Part Nine of AllWeHave!Verse. Set during Season 2, All Hell Breaks Loose. Sam is dead and Dean can't even quantify how broken that leaves him.


**Safety Net**

The knife went into Sam's back in slow motion and even from his vantage point, Dean knew it was fatal. He didn't want to know. Ignorance was bliss and he wished for one fucking second he could have believed it was even possible for Sam to live through it, because right then a second was forever.

But he knew better. He knew when Sam dropped to his knees, his eyes already glazing over that there wasn't a damn thing he or anyone else could do. Dean with all his field training, Bobby with his years of experience, the best doctors in the world — none of them could have saved his brother.

"Sammy!" He ran forward, blind to the man running off, bloody knife in hand.

Dropping to his knees, he grabbed his brother, searching the face, trying to get eye contact, but Sam was gasping his last breathes, unable to see, probably even couldn't feel Dean holding him and then he was gone.

"No, come on, Sammy!"

He shook the body, a little and then couldn't breathe, because it was just that. A body. His brother's body. His brother was dead.

"Please, Sammy, don't do this."

A hand touched his shoulder and he brushed it off jerkily, still groping at Sam, hoping and not hoping. Needing, but knowing it didn't matter.

"Don't leave me. Sammy, please don't leave me. Please?"

It sounded pathetic and desperate, but he didn't care, because he was desperate and he was pathetic. Without Sam, he had nothing. The Roadhouse was gone. He didn't even know where Jo was. Not that it mattered, because Sammy…

The hand came back and he vaguely remembered Bobby and his Dad were there, but he didn't want them to touch him. If they touched him, they'd make him let go of Sammy and he wasn't letting go.

As if summoned by the thought, the hands grabbed him and pulled him away, wrenching his hands off Sam and he screamed at them, lashed out, cursed, but they were stronger. Finally he went limp against his Dad, still staring at Sam's body, getting cold in the rain. Cold in death. Sammy was dead. 

* * *

><p>"John, he has to eat something."<p>

Dean sat at the table and pretended not to hear them as he continued to stare at Sam's body through the open doorway in the cabin, laid out on the bed. It was the cabin — the one they'd run from when they were kids. The bed was the same one they'd shared then, innocently, of course, because they were nine and fifteen and Dean had only sucked seven cocks. Just seven and he didn't even know how many more after and all for Sammy. Everything for Sammy and he stilled managed to fail.

Sammy was dead.

He blinked, half hoping that things would be different when he opened his eyes. Maybe it would be a dream. Maybe a sick joke. Maybe some higher power would take pity on him and raise his brother from the dead.

Sam didn't move. He laid there with his hand arranged neatly on his abdomen so Dean could see the unmoving chest.

John sat down across from him and pushed a wrapped burger at him.

Dean picked it up and flung it across the room. It pelted the window and fell to the floor with a less than satisfying thud.

"Dean…" He turned his gaze on John and his Dad stopped talking instantly.

Bobby comes forward and John stood, letting him take his seat. "Starving yourself won't bring Sam back."

"Doesn't have to." He didn't even know that was supposed to mean, but Bobby must have, because his expression hardened from sympathy to near anger.

"Don't you go doing anything stupid now, boy."

"Like what?" Then he got it. Bobby thought he was going to kill himself. He looked back at Sam's body. It wasn't a half bad idea.

Bobby slammed his hand down on the table, drawing Dean's attention back at him. "You know damn well, what."

"Why not? What have I got left, Bobby? Ellen's dead, Ash is dead, Jo's a hunter and she's no good at it. You know well as I do she'll be dead sooner than not and Sam…" he choked up and had to grit his teeth to continue, despite the tears welling up in his eyes. "The only thing I have worth living for is lying in that room, dead."

He turned on John before the man could even think about opening his mouth. "Don't even try to tell me I've got you. Maybe ten years ago what you thought mattered, but without Sam… Without Sam you aren't even a blip on my goddamn radar. So, leave me the _fuck_ alone."

He went back to staring at Sam and Bobby got up, stepping out with John, leaving him to his thoughts.

Sammy's scared eyes peering just over the top of the seat while the hot, alcohol heavy breathe of his assailant steamed past his ear, telling him to scream and all he could do was silently tell his brother to look away. Screaming meant people might come, people would call the cops, and then he'd have to answer questions he didn't want to answer.

He could survive this. He'd been stabbed before, it couldn't hurt worse than that. Except it did. It hurt in placed that weren't entirely physical and places he hadn't known it was possible to hurt that bad. It hurt in ways that didn't heal. Ever. He'd moved past it, of course, because it was already done and the money was better, then because Sam wanted it and if it was with Sam it wasn't so dirty and he made damn sure Sam never got hurt, not once.

Except he was hurt now. So hurt he was gone and Dean wasn't sure what was left of him without Sam there.

When Sam had left for Stanford, he'd gone on a drinking binge. It had taken Ash telling him he was drinking too much to pull him out of it. He'd driven to California, seen Sam laughing and hanging out with friends, kids his own age, acting like a normal guy and he'd thought, 'this is okay.' Sam was out of their world, but he was smart — he wouldn't let his guard down entirely and if things got dicey, he'd call.

So, Dean figured that was okay. Every now and then, he'd drive down and check in. He'd sit in his car from a safe distance and watch his brother walking between buildings on his way to class, or picking up groceries, and once he'd seen him with Jess and that had made Dean smile at least a little. Cute girl with a contagious grin and a great laugh.

Even when Sam was gone, he could always see him. Not anymore. Dean couldn't know where he was, he couldn't check if he was happy there, or if things were safe. The only thing he could do was stare at Sam's cold, dead corpse and think.

Think about every trick, every night they went to sleep hungry or cold, every night they didn't. He thought about a birthday in the back of the Impala where they'd eaten cake and about how that cake had tasted against the semen still lingering in the back of his throat from the man he'd blown so they could get it. So they could blow out a candle and sing happy and Dean could give Sam a new pair of used shoes to replace the ones that had been hurting his feet for a few weeks now.

The most fucked up things to remember and all of them fond in their own way, because they involved Sammy.

His Sammy. His life, his family, his… his partner. His everything and he was dead. Everyone was dead and everything that mattered was gone and they wanted him to eat a burger. 

* * *

><p>John kicked dirt outside the door and cursed loudly while Bobby leaned against the door and watched. Finally, he decided he'd have to be the first one to speak. "He's not gonna be okay, John."<p>

"I know that."

"Nothin' you say, nothin' you do is gonna make him okay. That boy was his world and he…"

"I know! Okay, I know that and I know he's either going to waste away or, if we're lucky, he'll put a bullet in his head and end himself quickly. I get it."

"I don't think you do. You don't drop in for a year and know everything. I've been watching over them since they first showed back up, licking their wounds and whether you want to admit it or not, I know them better. In fact, a whole helluvalot of people do. Now, he isn't gonna kill himself, he don't have that in 'im, but he will get himself killed. He will throw himself into hunt after hunt until he wears himself so thin somethin's bound to get him."

John stopped seething long enough to glare at Bobby. "What are we supposed to do, then?"

"We got options." Bobby crossed his arms over his chest and nodded back at the cabin. "I've got a panic room back at my place. We can put Dean there until we find Jo. She's family, more than that for a short time."

"Really?" John tried to imagine the two of them together, but it didn't quite mesh up right.

"He was goin' through a phase. Kept trying different girls to see what fit, none did. I don't think anyone, male or female ever did, really."

"Except his own brother."

"Don't you judge." Bobby pointed an accusing finger at John. "You are in no place to judge them. He was hurtin' bad, had been since you left and I'm not sayin' I like it, but he's been happy with Sam. I've even seen him smile a time or two and when I dropped them off at Ellen's all those years back, John, I never thought I'd see that again. So, you don't get to sit back and tell anyone that what they were doing was wrong, because you don't have a basis for comparison."

Ellen had said much the same thing.

John dropped his gaze to the ground and remembered all those mixed emotions he'd felt when that thing had possessed him almost eight months ago. He'd only gotten half of what was intended for him and it had been more than enough to make him realize he was never going to be able to make it up to Dean. There wasn't any real forgiveness there for him, just tolerance and maybe a smattering of a friendship and respect if he played his cards right.

Jo had left the Roadhouse earlier that year and Dean had done his best to hide it, but John could tell he blamed himself for it. Ash dying had been a blow, Ellen was worse, but Sam… He closed his eyes and nodded to himself.

"Okay, so we lock him up till she gets back. Then what?"

"Then we hope she can talk some sense into him. Our other options include drugs. With enough anti-depressants he has half a chance. Or we can find a way to make sure he never hunts alone. Ever. Ellen has… had a group of hunters that owed her, not all of 'em'll come, but enough maybe."

John shook his head, they couldn't lock Dean up, and there weren't enough drugs in the world to help him deal with what he was going through.

"I'm gonna take a drive."

Bobby narrowed his eyes, but didn't stop him as he got in the car, or say anything as he drove off. 

* * *

><p>Hours passed. Hours of watching Dean slowly sink further into himself. Dusk turned to evening. Evening deepened into midnight and not a word from John. Bobby stepped out and came back with chicken, but Dean wasn't having any of it. He didn't even look at it.<p>

Bobby considered whether he should try drugging the boy, make him get a few hours of sleep, but Dean wasn't going to drink anything Bobby gave him anymore than he was going to eat until he had to and Bobby couldn't bring himself to force it down him, so they just sat there.

Then the clock struck three. There wasn't anything significant about three in the morning. It was just as dark and quiet as it had been for hours. The cabin was filled with just as much thick, choking emotion, and the smell of food was just a stale. Dean had put his head on the table, but he wasn't asleep. Over the top of it all, or maybe just under it, it was hard to tell, a roll of something like electricity slipped in and Bobby jerked up, keenly aware that Dean was doing the same thing, both of them standing alert, looking around the cabin for the source of the raw power.

Then they heard it. The gasping breath from the other room, the cough of someone's lungs starting and the groan of pain as life settled back into stiff limbs and the body repaired itself too quickly for comfort.

Dean didn't move, didn't turn to look. It couldn't be real. He'd fallen asleep and this was some kind of dream, some sick twisted nightmare. If he turned, it wouldn't be Sam, it would be a demon, maybe yellow eyes himself and he'd wake up and have to deal with Sam being dead all over again.

Except, Bobby was looking at him in a way that said it wasn't a dream and finally, he did turn and Sam was sitting up on the bed, staring at them in confusion. "What…" He coughed again, his chest rattling and Dean was moving before he'd even thought to. He dropped to his knees next to the bed and put his hands on either side of Sam's face, ignoring his brother's protests in favor of running his hands through Sam's hair and feeling the warm skin under his fingers, mapping the living, moving features only inches from his own.

Sam's eyes flickered to Bobby, then back to Dean. "Dean, what's wrong? What happened?"

Dean let out a chocked sob and wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, holding him so tightly Sam cringed, but something told him pulling away wasn't a good idea, so he shifted to make himself comfortable and matched the hold, "It's okay. Dean, whatever it is, it's okay."

He looked at Bobby for answers, but Bobby wasn't there anymore and the front door was closing with a resounding slam.

What the hell was going on? 

* * *

><p>John pushed past Bobby, ignoring the questions he was instantly bombarded with. He didn't have time for questions. He had minutes and he had to be sure. He had to know it had worked.<p>

He stopped in the doorway and the relief that washed over him nearly drove him to the floor. Sam was sitting on the bed, stroking Dean's hair, confusion clear in his knitted brow. Dean had fallen asleep in Sam's lap, his hand wrapped around Sam's leg, even in sleep. His face calm, at peace. It was the first time John had ever seen him like that.

Maybe Bobby and Ellen were right. Maybe this wasn't a bad thing.

The second Sam saw John, the questions started. "Dad, what the hell happened? Bobby just walked out, Dean won't tell me anything."

He started forward and then stopped. There was one more thing he had to do. "I'm sorry, I don't have time. Take care of Dean?"

It was the first time anyone had said that to him and meant it. The first time anyone had acknowledged that as much as Dean protected Sam, Sam held Dean together. "Yeah, of course."

Turning around, he went back out and stopped in front of Bobby. "I'm sorry, but you have to listen to me. Yellow Eyes has plans for Sammy, big ones. He isn't interested in the other kids, he never was. I have theories as to why, but nothing solid enough to even bother passing on. I thought someday I'd have to kill Sam, but now… if Sam dies, whoever does it might as well kill Dean too. That can't happen. You tell Dean that and you both watch Sam, keep him on the straight and narrow, because I don't have a second soul to sell."

Bobby opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. "Damnit, John. Why?"

"I'm not what he needs. I'm not what either of them needs." He put a hand on Bobby's face and smiled. "I'm okay with this. I can't make up not being there for them when they needed me, but I can do this. I want to do this. Take care of my boys."

"John…"

"It's done, Bobby. Go on, Sam has questions and I think the answers had better come from someone they trust."

After a moment, Bobby hugged him tightly and he returned the embrace, then watched Bobby's retreating back and despite what he was about to do, despite the fact that he was condemning himself to an eternity in hell, he felt very much at peace. Taking the gun out of his pocket, he set it on the hood of the car. The front door swung shut behind Bobby and he smiled sadly. He would have liked to talk to Dean one last time, but seeing him like that, smiling in sleep, that had been enough.

"I'm ready." 

* * *

><p><strong>ONE WEEK LATER<strong>

Dean jerked awake, the smell of Sam strong in his nose, the feel of his brother, warm and alive under him chasing away the nightmares he'd been having in sleep. Nightmares of wrapping Sam's cold body in clothe, building the pier, of having to light that match and wishing he could jump in after.

They were at Bobby's junk yard, sleeping in his spare room. One bed, the two of them and it wouldn't have mattered if Bobby didn't know, because Dean needed Sam more in the last week than he ever had. Every morning started the same. He'd wake up needing to reassure himself Sam was alive and spend the next half hour doing so with his mouth and his hands and sometimes even his cock and Sam never questioned it. Maybe he needed the reassurance, too.

Sated and sweaty, he rolled out of bed and caught a glimpse of Sam's arm, the scar red and agitated. "You've been scratching it."

Sam looked down and poked it, his eyes going glassy for a moment. "Lenore's coming. She's been tracking the last few days, but I guess she's getting close now."

He looked closer at the arm and then blew warm air on it, grinning when Sam shuddered bodily, his eyes rolling back into his head momentarily. "Dude, not funny."

Putting a knee on the bed, he reached a hand down, wrapping his fingers around Sam's already half hard cock. "I'm not laughing."

He let a finger brush against the mark and Sam bit back a moan and he wasn't half hard anymore, he was right fucking there, one stroke, one squeeze and he was going to cum. He'd forgotten how sensitive the damn thing was when it was being used. Thankfully, Dean didn't feel like tormenting him. He ran a tongue over the mark, stroking Sam at the same time and it didn't matter than Dean had just given him a blowjob, because he came all over his pants like a horny teenager.

Coming down off it, he let his head flop back and panted at the ceiling. "Fuck, that was…"

Dean took the back of his head and pulled him into a long, languorous kiss before getting off the bed. "You can thank me later."

"I'm sure. Hey, call Lenore and tell her where we are. I don't want to spontaneously orgasm in front of Bobby, if it's all the same to you."

"Hm." He considered holding off a couple more hours, but Sam would be pissed, so he grabbed his cell on the way out, dialing the number by memory. Lenore was one of those people. You didn't write her number down, because if anyone got a hold of his phone, they might be able to track her.

Her voice was as neutral as it had been the last time he'd talked to her, when she'd just finished marking his brother. "Dean, where are you?"

"With a friend. We're okay."

"I lost Sam. He was gone for over a day and then he came back. What happened?"

He recounted the events of last week. He told her about Sam dying, left out the gritty details of his own break down, because she'd already know. She'd know because she knew how hard it had been for him to accept her mark on Sam, but he had, because he never wanted to lose Sam again. He never wanted his brother out of his reach and Lenore understood that, she felt the same way about her fledglings.

Only he had lost Sam. Worse than before and not even Lenore would have been able to track him and bring him back. If Dad hadn't…

He shook his head and took a long drag of his beer, finishing the story, filling her in on the door they'd opened to hell, on John's soul being released, Yellow Eyes was dead and they had no clue where they went from there.

She was silent for some time and when she spoke, the careful neutral tone had been replaced with the kind of finality you didn't bother arguing with. "Give me the address."

He did and went to find Bobby. He knew about Lenore, didn't approve, but didn't object either. He'd told Bobby what the demon said — it might not be Sammy, not entirely. There might be something, maybe something less and Lenore would know. Lenore would be able to tell. She could feel what was inside him and examine it, tell Dean what she saw. Or what she didn't see.

Shaking his head, he went back fixing the car Bobby had given him to work on. He said it was meant to help him pass the time and Dean was reluctantly grateful. Lenore would be there in a day, he just had to hold on till then. 

* * *

><p>Sam sat in the chair and Lenore stared at him from across the room, her head held high and her nostrils occasionally flaring open as she breathed him in.<p>

"He's fine. Normal. Human." She turned to look at Dean. "One hundred percent."

Sam sighed overdramatically, "Well, that's a relief. I mean, I didn't feel particularly demonic, but who knows, right?"

Lenore's lips twitched upward for a moment. "You died and came back. That's not normal, it's not natural. You're brother was right to be concerned."

"I know, doesn't make it better." He stood and stomped off, slamming the door.

After several seconds, when the sound of his retreating footsteps couldn't be heard, Lenore turned her attention back to Dean. "He'll get over it."

Dean nodded and shrugged, "I needed to know." Kicking off the dirty kitchen cabinet, he wiped the sweat off his palms and onto his jeans. "So, what now?"

She raised a dark eyebrow. "I'm sure I have no idea. Your demon is dead, your father is a hero again, and your brother is alive. What more could you want?"

"I could want…" he trailed off, thinking about years spent running in the dirt behind the Roadhouse, the echo of a much younger Sam's voice in his ears as he yelled for Aunt Ellen, to tell her good news, bad news sometimes, news about a girl or a teacher, but always news he'd told Dean first. He could want all that, but he had Sam and Sam was human, Sam was whole. That was going to have to be enough. "Nothing."

She started to step past him for the back door, but Dean stopped her. "Wait, I have a favor."

"Another one?" He flashed her one of his well-practiced, dazzling grins, but she didn't look impressed.

"I need you to mark me."

"No." There was no pause, no hesitation and Dean had to close his eyes to keep from flinching. "You are asking me to taste human blood. Again. That's not a switch I can turn off easily, Dean. I taste your blood and I'm going to want more."

"You did it before, with Sam."

"Yes, and I very nearly lost myself to it."

"Please. Dad said something before he died and Sam can not be alone. If something happens to me, I need you to know."

"What did he say?"

"He said there are plans at work. Demonic plans. He said they want him for something and Yellow Eyes is dead, so maybe that's the end of it, but maybe it isn't. Whatever it is, I can't let it happen."

She considered him for several seconds. "If I agree, it will be a two way link between me and you."

"Sam never said anything about it being two ways."

"Sam doesn't tell you everything, Dean." She gave him another one of her rare smiles and his frown deepened. "When you took him, he was in shock, but it wasn't just from the feedings, or his age — the trauma. You'd killed several of the vampires in the nest, he could feel them dying. If anything happens to one of us, you will feel the lose."

"I'll deal."

He would, too. He could deal with anything.

Anything except Sam's cold, dead body in his arms.

"There's more. We haven't fed off humans in a long time and we don't intend to, but you have to consider that it might happen. Someday, despite my intentions, we may fail. If that happens, we will hunt you first. You and your brother are ours. We will feed off you and we will turn you."

"You turn and we'll be waiting for you to find us."

The smile was different this time. Predatory and leering. She cocked her head to the side and the step she took was towards him, until she had him sandwiched between her and the cabinets. He tried not to feel claustrophobic.

"Are you sure, pretty little Winchester?"

Dean gulped back the urge to say he wasn't pretty and managed a choked, "Yeah."

"Where do you want it?"

He blinked and looked at his arm, but stopped, because that wasn't a good idea. He liked t-shirts on hot days and he didn't want to risk flashing a vampire bite around hunters. "Be discrete."

She continued to smile and even if she stood a good foot shorter than him, she might as well have been a stone wall. Her hands were firm as she ran them across his shoulders, down his arms, back up and over his chest, then down his abdomen to his hips, one hand on either side, fingers pressed into his hipbones.

Other hands had been there - rougher, larger hands, but just as strong and Lenore was looking down at where those hands rested hungrily, just like so many other predators before her.

Stepping up onto her toes, she lowered her voice to a breathy, husky whisper. "This is going to hurt."

He hesitated, because the scenario was sickeningly familiar, but this was for Sam. He couldn't take the risk that his brother would be left alone. Raising a cocky eyebrow, he winked at her. "Baby, that ain't the first time I've heard that."

"Hm." Dropping to her knees in front of him, she slowly undid his buckle with slim fingers and manicured nails painted a pale pink. He forced himself to stay still, to watch. The counter dug into the back of his thighs. He didn't like feeling pinned.

Her nails scratched against the sides of his legs as she pulled his jeans down, not even to his knees, just enough. Just like before, except Lenore wasn't looking to suck his cock.

She pushed up the side of his boxer briefs and licked the skin of his hip and when she spoke, the husky quality of her voice was even more pronounced. "I'll assume not a great many people see this particular part of you."

"Other than Sam, you'd be the first in a long while."

"Good."

Her teeth started decending and he had to look away then, because facing his fear of past rapes was one thing, facing the fact that he was offering himself up like a peace of meat for a vampire was something else entirely. Lenore or not, when those teeth came out, it was hard to see her as anything else.

The first thing he felt was her breath, hot and heavy on the outside of his thigh, then her teeth, sharp and, yeah, it hurt. He gripped the counter, feeling sixteen all over again. Then they sank in and it was nothing like being sixteen. The pain was different, more acute, but also more bearable — maybe because the humiliation wasn't there.

He knew the minute she started sucking. There was the strange, foreign sensation of suction in the wrong place and then… pleasure. His legs gave out and he had to clench his fists around the lip of the counter to keep from hitting the ground. White bursts of light exploded over his vision, all but eclipsing Bobby's yellowed ceiling tile.

"Jesus Christ… oh god."

She pulled her teeth out and he looked back down, unable to form coherent words. Sammy had never said anything about _that_ either.

Lenore licked her upper lip and sighed happily. He'd never seen her smile like that and he was struck by how pretty she really was. Blood sucking son-a-bitch status aside.

"You, Dean Winchester, are definitely something very, very different."

"Thanks?" He tried to pretend it hadn't come out more like a squeak than an actual word.

She stood up, bringing his pants with her and buckled his jeans for him. He wanted to feel indignant, but it was all he could do to stay standing. The button slid through the hole and she reached down, pulling up his zipper slowly. God, he was actually hard and a little voice in the back of his said, 'no wonder Sammy was so fucked up after that.'

He'd asked for it and he'd meant it. There were few safeguards he could put up for Sam, but he was going to see to it each and every one was in place before they left Bobby's. Sam, though? Sam had been a little kid, scared and entirely unable to consent or protect himself. What they had done to Sam might as well have been rape as intimate as it was.

Lenore must have sensed his emotions, because she put a hand on the side of his face for a moment before stepping to the side and out the door into the warm night air, where Sam would still be pacing, seething over the fact that Dean didn't trust him.

That wasn't it, though. Dean would always trust Sam, with every fiber of his being and every ounce of will he had. It was the demons he didn't trust. Demons lied, by their very nature they deceived and twisted and turned things around until they were as ugly as the demons themselves. John may have sold his soul to get Sam back — and Dean still couldn't decide whether that made him the most stupid or most wonderful person in the entirety of forever - but there was no saying they hadn't taken liberties with that deal.

Except Lenore said it was Sam and Dean adjusted his pants a little, trying to wipe off the feel of her hands on him. Didn't do any good, but he hadn't really thought it would. The only person he'd ever been comfortable letting touch him was Sam, no matter how… surprising pleasurable the experience might have been. 

* * *

><p>Kicking the hubcap he'd been eyeing for the past several minutes, Sam deflated as it skidded through the junk yard, bouncing off dented rims and other car parts with what should have been a satisfying flurry of clinks.<p>

He knew he shouldn't be mad. There wasn't a reason to be mad. He'd been dead and Dean told him what the yellow eyed demon said, so it only made sense to get it checked out. Still… he sighed and frowned at the dirt. He couldn't help feeling like Dean should have just trusted him on it.

The problem was, Dean still saw him as a kid. Sex stuff aside, he might as well have been a gangly teenager without the coordination it took to bus tables, for all the faith Dean had in him.

Lenore chose that moment to step through the door. He opened his mouth to tell her thanks, with every intent to make it as polite as necessary — it really wasn't her fault his brother was a jerk sometimes — when he noticed it. It wasn't anything as obvious as blood on her mouth, or a glow. It was more a smugness in her pursed lips, the slightly raised eyebrow, the extra pep in her step, the something else he'd never been able to define.

"You… you drank human blood."

Her head tilted to the side and she waited.

"Wait, no, you just drank… you marked Dean?"

"He asked." It was nonchalant and straight forward as every answer she ever gave, regardless of the question. Lenore had lived too long to bother with emotion when it wasn't necessary. Sam was angry with her, but that was his business; she'd only done what was asked of her and only then because it harmed no one.

Sam opened his mouth to ask why, but it stuck in his throat. He knew why. It was another level of 'take care of my baby brother,' only Sam wasn't a baby anymore, he was a full grown adult and older than Dean when he'd started hunting on his own.

Sighing, he nodded at Lenore. "Right, I got it. Catch you later?"

"Let's hope not."

Without another word, she walked off into the darkness of the scrap yard and was gone. Not even the sound of footsteps following her. He'd never get used to that. She was worse than a ghost.

Kicking another hubcap, he ignored Dean coming out of the house. They stood in the dark for a while, the clinking of the hubcap settling into its new place ringing in the air between them. Finally, Dean leaned back against the wall, hooking one foot over the other and crossing his arms over his chest. Perfect impersonation of casual ease, except Sam knew Dean and he was anything but relaxed.

"Dean…"

"I know what you're gonna say, Sam, and I don't disagree."

"That you're being stupid and irrational? That you should have talked to me before letting Lenore mark you?"

"Yeah, all of it."

"Then why didn't you?"

Dean sighed and uncrossed his hands, dropping them into the pockets of his jacket. "'Cause I had to, Sammy."

"Why?"

"Why didn't you tell me it was two ways?" Sam stood straighter, stiffer and Dean pressed on. "I can't… that can't happen again. I can't lose you and I gotta know there's someone there for you if something happens to me. We've always been alone. We let in Ellen and Jo and Bobby, but it's not the same and you know it. There has to be a back up, Sammy."

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing Dean could have done. Bobby had told him what had happened. In detail. He knew exactly how far gone Dean was before he came back and it scared him. He didn't like thinking Dean was that dependant on him, but he'd known. Somewhere, somehow, he'd know. Because he was just as dependant on Dean.

Besides, both of them being marked meant that if something happened Sam, Lenore could find Dean too. Lenore could keep him from doing something stupid. Like getting himself killed.

"Fine." He took another breath, letting it out slower. "You're right. We need backups, I just… I don't like it."

"Yeah, well, neither do I."

They stood there in silence for a while. Finally, Sam brushed a hand through his hair and let the tension go. It was probably for the better, or maybe not, but either way it was done and there wasn't anything he could do to change it.

Looking up, he quirked a smile, "So, what now?"

Dean shrugged and grinned back. "I was thinking bed."

"It's early."

"Not planning on doing a whole lot of sleeping."

Sam chuckled, but backed up when Dean took a step toward him. "Oh, no, I'm not that easy."

"No, you're easier."

"Ha ha." Sam took another step back. "I've got a better idea."

Dean's smile broadened. "What?"

"The Impala's parked around back and Bobby went to break into the library, won't be home for hours."

Dean grabbed the front of Sam's shirt and pulled him into a long kiss, hard and wet and desperate and Sam matched it, fumbling with his layers of clothes as they stumbled over each other on their way around the house.

He knew there was more to the mark than Dean had told him. There was something more behind this than just wanting a safety net, but he couldn't bring himself to push it, not when Dean's hands were shoving his pants down and Dean mouth was all over him, making every nerve fire at once.

Teeth nipped at his neck and let his head fall back against the seat, giving Dean all the access he wanted, letting him taste his skin and sweat and whatever else. He'd worry about the rest later.


End file.
